


Of Nebulas and Reports

by sonsofmogh (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Fluffy Space Angst, Gen, General Plotlessness, Mild Profanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4311108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/sonsofmogh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in a shuttlecraft for three hours on the most boring mission everywhere, Doctor McCoy does his best not to strangle the green-blooded menace to his sanity known as Spock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Nebulas and Reports

“Did you get your pilot certification from the discount rack, you green-blooded hobgoblin?” McCoy spat as he clutched the shuttlecraft console in front of him for dear life.

If Spock took offense to the remark, he showed no sign of it. Damn him. He had thought nothing was more frightening than having his every being disassembled at the atomic level and recollected thousands of kilometers away; he was wrong.

The Denari nebula was home to some of the quadrant’s most significant scientific mysteries, but it was also home to a hypoxic gas that, if breathed for more than a minute, could seize humanoid lungs into paralysis. There were safeguards in the shuttlecraft, of course, but Starfleet had insisted after this mission was assigned that the research team be accompanied by medical personnel just in case. And, much to McCoy’s ire, as the only member of the staff both familiar with the nature of the nebula, the anti-hypoxia shots they had available, and Spock’s Vulcan biology — well, you get the picture.

So McCoy was stuck inside a turbulent nebula, in a metal box with two bright-eyed and bushy-tailed ensigns from the astrophysics lab and Vulcanstein.

Damn it.

Ready to jump out the nearest airlock and put himself out of his misery, McCoy distracted himself with pretending to understand the readouts on the monitor while eyeballing the vitals of everyone in the shuttle cabin. It didn’t take more than an hour before he gave up, his stomach coiling up angrily from an unholy cocktail of unsteady flight conditions and trying to read during them.

Only two more hours to go. Oh, goody.

By the start of the third hour, McCoy wanted to leave. Not just the persevering desire to escape this noxious death cloud, but a hankering to never set foot on a starship again and hide in a bayou back on earth with no one but alligators for neighbors. To hell with medicine and space and tin cans that tear-assed through the galaxy at the speed of light. To hell with Starfleet. And to hell with —

“Damn it, man, if you shake this blasted shuttle like that _one more time_ —”

“Then what, Doctor?” Spock interrupted, his voice laced with just enough contempt to make McCoy want to tear his pointed ears off. “You’ll complain at length about a voluntary mission, for which you were under no obligation to undergo?”

McCoy grumbled something rude and not-safe-for-work under his breath before saying out loud, “You know very well none of my staff are equipped for this mission. They don’t have the training.”

“That statement is erroneous, Doctor.” Spock’s eyes never left the monitor as he replied, “Nurse Chapel is more than qualified to administer the necessary hypo-spray should it become necessary. She is a very capable medical officer, and dare I say that her personal interest in astrophysics would make her a more ideal candidate for this mission. She also does not suffer from motion sickness.”

Scowling at Spock, McCoy said, “Well, yippie ki yay for Nurse Chapel. She still doesn’t have the training for your evil green blood, Spock. The wrong dosage of the anti-hypoxic hypo-spray could kill you in seconds.” His eyes narrowed. “Now that you mention it, maybe she _would_ be the perfect candidate.”

“That statement is also erroneous, Doctor,” Spock answered, still irritatingly unfazed. “Nurse Chapel has requisitioned several medical texts from the Vulcan Medical Academy to broaden her base of knowledge.”

“And just how would you know that?”

Spock turned to face McCoy and quirked a brow. “All requests for information outside the _Enterprise_ computer banks are compiled into reports, turned into me at regular intervals.”

One of the ensigns, McSomething, turned to gawk at Spock. “You actually read those?”

“Of course, Ensign.” Spock turned back to his monitor. “Thorough analysis of every report is a vital component to both my role as first officer, as well as important to the smooth running of the ship. It is also regulation that I read every report before giving them to the captain.”

“Who never reads those reports,” McCoy interjects, close to actual laughter at the idea of Jim Kirk, the daring and indomitable captain of the flagship of the Federation, reading medical text requisitions in between punching Klingons and Andorians in the face.

“You are correct, Doctor. He does not.” With that, Spock checked on the ensigns’ progress in charting the nebula before guiding them out.

Once they docked back in the _Enterprise_ , McCoy almost sprinted out of the shuttle and back to Sick Bay, where nothing shook and everything was where he left it. Just to scrub the invisible unpleasantness of the trip off of him, he took a sonic shower before changing back into his regular scrubs.

About ten minutes later, the doors slid open, admitting the ship’s captain. A devilish smirk on his face — when did the man ever not have one, McCoy really wanted to know — Kirk said, “Reports said that the survey mission went off without a hitch. You must have been relieved that your services were not required.”

“Relief is not the word I’d use,” McCoy grunted, not bothering to cage the sneer threatening at the very memory of being in the shuttlecraft. “Effective immediately, I will be training every member of my medical staff on the exact methods necessary to treat any Vulcan, Tribble, or whatever that decides to set foot in that god-forsaken nebula.”

Kirk chuckled. “I thought as much, especially after Ensign McCovey’s report.”

“Meaning what?” McCoy grilled, arms crossed.

Holding up the padd McCoy hadn’t noticed Kirk was carrying, Kirk read, “‘As a side note, I wish to ensure that the captain is aware of the hostile relationship between Dr. McCoy and Lt. Commander Spock. I was sure they would come to blows before we left the nebula.’”

McCoy barely swallowed his scathing reply. Instead, he said, “It isn’t my fault they don’t teach more than basic Vulcan physiology at the Academy, but I’m damn well going to fix it anyway.”

“Oh?” Kirk raised a brow. “It was my understanding Nurse Chapel has been independently training herself in that very subject. Judging by the amount of material requested in the past six months, I would say she would be more than knowledgeable by this point. She might even know more than you?”

“ _How_ do you even know that? Spock said you don’t even read those reports!”

Kirk harrumphed. “Of course not. I’m a busy man, Bones. Spock reads those reports and gives me the, oh you might say, the highlights.”

McCoy shook his head. “How is that a highlight?”

“Spock seemed to think it was of note.” Kirk patted McCoy on the shoulder before heading towards the exit. “See you at the staff meeting tomorrow morning, Bones.”

“Yeah. Can’t wait.”

As he was left alone once again, McCoy didn’t bother filtering himself as he muttered, “Stupid Vulcans and their stupid green blood.”

Just then, Nurse Chapel breezed into Sick Bay, her face brightening. “Oh, Doctor, you’re back early! Did you mention Vulcans? Did you know I’ve been brushing up on Vulcan biology?”

Having had his fill of Vulcan everything for the day, McCoy raised his hands in surrender and spat, “You can have him!” before stomping into his office and barricading the door.


End file.
